


Stardust in Your Eyes

by senorbunnicula



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Viktuuri Big Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 18:22:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11560800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senorbunnicula/pseuds/senorbunnicula
Summary: Phichit waves a careless hand, swinging his feet as they dangle off the floor. “The Nikforovs won’t care that you didn't receive an invitation. They invite pretty much all of the nobility to their Gala every year, so it’s not like they’ll notice. Plus, I was invited, so obviously, you’ll tag along with me!”Yuuri almost points out that the Chulanots, like the Nikiforovs, are rich as well as titled, while Yuuri is the last lowly scion of a penniless baronetcy--barely nobility at all, only known to the people of the Citadel as That Excellent Mechanic Lord Victor Talks About--but he knows it won’t do any good.---Vaguely steampunkish/vaguely Cinderellaish AU





	Stardust in Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to dork-sen for the beautiful art! Check it out [here!](http://dork-sen.tumblr.com/post/163202061587/heres-the-art-for-stardust-in-your-eyes-the)

  

In a kingdom far away, in a small village on the sea called Hasetsu, there lives a young man named Yuuri. He lives with his family in a modest house and they are, to the casual observer, no different than any other resident of the town. But they would be wrong.

Yuuri is--technically--nobility. He is the Baronet Katsuki, but no one in the village, including himself, ever really thinks about that--except once a year, when a rider comes in from the Citadel to remind everyone that the Baronet Katsuki is supposed to send the Crown Prince Christophe a little something to celebrate his special day.

“Ah,” the villagers say to each other as they watch a herald ride by, “that’s for the Katsukis, of course. I’d forgotten about that title of theirs.”

(Yuuri’s great-great-great-grandfather gave a hungry king a meal--or so the story goes according to the old men who sit playing cards at the tea shop every day--and the king was so grateful he bestowed a title on the gobsmacked man and declared that Hasetsu now belonged to the Katsuki family. Great-Great-Great-Grandfather Katsuki, bemused, accepted--you cannot exactly say _no_ to your king, after all--but nothing changed except now the occasional rich noble comes riding through town thinking the Baronet Katsuki might be a fellow rich noble, and leaves immediately upon seeing Hasetsu “Castle,” which was not a castle at all, and, indeed, did not even belong to the Katsuki family. If they last long enough to be introduced to the Katsukis, they leave in horror upon seeing the Katsuki’s modest inn and manner.)

 Yuuri usually sends the Prince a little mechanical trinket based on whatever the society pages say is the Prince’s current favorite activity. He receives a generic thank you obviously written by one of the Prince’s many assistants, so he assumes the Prince doesn’t even see the gifts he sends.

Nobody really remembers that Yuuri is a baronet, but everybody knows Yuuri Katsuki is the best mechanic in Hasetsu.

Of course, he’s the _only_ mechanic in Hasetsu, but that doesn’t diminish his abilities.

If you ask any of the other mechanics in the kingdom, they’ll tell you that of _course_ they’ve heard of Yuuri Katsuki; he’s a genius at mechanics _._

(Then they’ll wonder why Yuuri Katsuki insists on living in that tiny village instead of moving to the Citadel where people can actually make use of his prodigious talent.)

There _is_ one little fact that nobody knows about Yuuri Katsuki. And he certainly has no plans to tell anyone about it anytime soon:

He’s desperately, hopelessly in love with Lord Victor Nikiforov, the Duke of Petersburg and the best friend of the Crown Prince Christophe.

Yuuri knows, intellectually, that he’s not _actually_ in love with Lord Victor, since they’ve never met, and that he’s only in love with the _idea_ of Victor--who is everything Yuuri is not: handsome, charming, personable...

That doesn’t stop his heart from beating just a little bit faster whenever the radio or the society pages mention Lord Victor’s name (“.. _.seen wearing the latest fashions from Paris, the dark blue of his waistcoat striking against his hair…”)_ or when the time comes for the annual gala Lord Victor’s family throws, and Yuuri’s best friend Phichit Chulanot (who attends every year) visits to tell Yuuri (who most certainly does _not_ attend) all about it.

 

So Phichit probably knows about Yuuri's ridiculous feelings for Lord Victor. But he's the only one.

 

Phichit is also the only person outside of Yuuri’s family who knows about Vicchan.

 

Yuuri had built Vicchan when he was a teenager, after hearing about Lord Victor’s dog Makkachin.

Lord Victor had received Makkachin, his beloved dog, as a gift for this thirteenth birthday, and been utterly delighted with the puppy.  From that point on, young Lord Victor had taken the dog everywhere with him. Already a staple of the society pages, even at such a young age, Lord Victor endeared himself even further to the kingdom by gushing about the dog whenever a reporter asked him any questions, whether or not Makkachin was actually relevant to the topic. (“What do I think about the state of the economy? Well, I contributed to it a bit today; I bought my darling Makkachin about a hundred new toys, including this _darling_ one that looks like a little piggy, isn’t it _adorable?”_ )  He’d been utterly devastated when Makkachin died just five years later, when Lord Victor was eighteen, after choking on a morsel of meat.

For Lord Victor’s twenty-first birthday, one of the palace mechanics had built a replica of Makkachin, designed to look and act as much like the real dog as possible. Lord Victor had accepted the model with a charmingly grateful smile, dubbed it “Makka,” and suddenly, the entire kingdom wanted mechanical dogs of their own, just like Lord Victor’s. Unlike Lord Victor’s Makka, these new ones didn’t act like Makkachin--they’d only been programmed with general dog behavior patterns.

The Makkas were, like most other clockwork models, rather expensive, and Yuuri knew that his family would never be able to afford one. He was well into his apprenticeship when the first Makka was released, and he used the spare parts at the mechanic's shop to build his own clockwork dog. It didn’t look like the Makkas at all (they all had soft fur coats painstakingly applied by artisans’ hands, while Yuuri’s model had nothing but its shiny bronze shell, and Yuuri’s was small enough to tuck into his jacket, while the Makkas were large like the original Makkachin), but it was dog-shaped and acted like a puppy (even if its bark sounded like the chirp of a cuckoo clock rather than a dog--when Yuuri hadn’t been able to get his hands on a Makka sound box, he’d taken apart the clock from his bedroom), so Yuuri had brought it home with him and named it after the person who’d inspired its creation.

Yuuri had kept Vicchan hidden in his room until the little dog had nosed Yuuri’s door open one day and wreaked havoc in the inn’s kitchen. Yuuri’s parents had been immediately charmed, Yuuri’s sister was impressed, and all of them agreed that Vicchan would be their little secret. The Katsuki family knew that if anyone discovered Vicchan, both the little mechanical dog and his creator would be swept off to the Citadel, and none of them wanted that.

Phichit discovered Vicchan on a visit to Yuuri’s shop. Phichit had three hamsters (two living, one clockwork), and had come to Hasetsu show them off to Yuuri. Vicchan had been dozing under the counter by Yuuri’s feet, but when he detected small animals in his proximity, he’d immediately woken up and barked.

Phichit had been charmed by the little dog and with only a token protest that Vicchan’s presence in his latest photograph--which he always submitted unsolicited to all the Citadel papers--would _definitely_ land him on the front section of the society pages, agreed to keep the secret.

Sadly, he hadn’t had to keep the secret for very long. Poor Vicchan had run out into the road while chasing a bird and had been hit by a steam-powered bicycle. Both the bike and little mechanical dog had been ruined beyond repair. Yuuri had been heartbroken and refused to rebuild Vicchan, despite his family’s encouragement and Phichit’s offer to pay for the supplies.

Even though he was devastated by Vicchan’s passing, Yuuri still keeps up with the Makkas. The Makkas only get more popular with each new model so it never hurts to stay abreast of the new technology, he tells himself as he flips through a mechanical journal or the society pages, even if he will never get a chance to use this knowledge, as no one in Hasetsu or the surrounding villages can afford a Makka--or any mechanical pet, really.

After all, it’s not as though Lord Victor will ever come to his shop.

 

* * *

 

 

The bell jangles above the door to Yuuri’s shop, as it always does when someone comes in.

Yuuri mostly ignores it. Everyone knows he’ll help them when he’s through with his task, now that the bell has alerted him to their presence, so he’s startled by the unfamiliar voice that shatters the comfortable silence of the shop.

“Hello!”

Yuuri jerks his head up. His hands twitch as he only just stops himself from reaching up to rub his eyes in disbelief.

It’s Lord Victor Nikiforov! In his shop!

_Lord Victor Nikiforov is standing in Yuuri’s shop._

“M-my lord,” he stammers, wiping his greasy hands on his apron. He pushes his goggles back into his already messy hair, making it even more unruly. He hopes Lord Victor doesn’t comment on it. Lord Victor is dressed in the latest fashions, expensive and immaculately pressed, clean and bright and beautiful standing there in Yuuri’s dark and dirty shop. His hair shines in the dim light filtering through the mostly-closed curtains, and his bangs drift lazily over one eye. His fine, long-fingered hands are encased in bespoke kid gloves and the light scent of his cologne floats around the shop, strange against the usual sharp smell of oil and the metallic tang of gears.

What is he _doing_ here? So far from the Citadel!

“Sorry to bother you,” says Lord Victor, not sounding sorry at all, “but I’m looking for the Baronet Katsuki. Do you know where I can find him?”

“Right here, my lord,” says Yuuri.

“Well, yes,” says Lord Victor. “I know, he owns this shop. Is he in?”

“Yes, my lord,” Yuuri says slowly.

“Excellent!” Lord Victor exclaims as he pulls his gloves off, one finger at a time. “Can you tell him I’m here?”

Yuuri purses his lips, debating whether or not to just tell Lord Victor that _he’s_ the Baronet Katsuki, then shrugs. “I’ll see if he’s available,” he says. “The baronet is very busy.”

“I know,” Lord Victor says imperiously, tossing his hair and carelessly dropping his gloves to the dirty counter. “I’ve heard he’s the best in the kingdom; that’s why I've come all the way from the Citadel to find him. It’s quite urgent.” His eyes scan the shop, and from the look on his face he doesn’t think the appearance of the shop reflects the reputation of its owner. Yuuri tries not to be offended at that.

“Right,” Yuuri replies. He turns and walks into the back office and shuts the door. He stares at the desk, piled high with work orders and inventory lists, the empty chair behind it just visible between the stacks of paper. He takes a deep breath.

“Lord Victor wants _my_ help for something,” he murmurs, disbelieving. What could it be?

(Is Lord Victor this obnoxious with _everyone_? Or just with people he perceives as commoners? Yuuri’s not sure which option is worse.)

He reenters the shop, where Lord Victor is impatiently fiddling with the screwdriver Yuuri left on the counter. “Well?” he snaps as Yuuri returns to his place behind the counter. “Where is he?”

“Actually,” says Yuuri, “ _I’m_ the Baronet Katsuki.”

Lord Victor jerks to attention at that. “ _Really?”_ he exclaims, dragging disbelieving eyes up and down Yuuri’s body, from his mussed hair and smudged goggles to his greasy hands and stained shirt cuffs.

Yuuri tries not to pull at his clothing self-consciously. He might be sort of in love with Lord Victor--who is even more handsome in person--but that doesn’t mean that he’s going to let the other man intimidate him in his own shop.

(Though Lord Victor’s rather unflattering first impression is deflating Yuuri’s borderline worshipful feelings quite a bit. Which he supposes is probably a good thing.)

“Yes,” Yuuri replies, digging out his best crisp Citadelian accent. “What is it you need? As I said before, I'm extremely busy.”

Lord Victor’s haughty demeanor drops instantly. “It’s Makka,” he says, wringing his hands together. “She’s not working properly, and the mechanics at home say there’s no more they can do and that I should just get another one, a Mark VI, but it wouldn’t be the same! She’s the original imprint, all I have left of Makkachin,” he pleads. “Please, can you help me?”

Yuuri blinks in surprise. “I don’t see how I can help if the mechanics in the Citadel can’t help you,” he says slowly.

“You can!” Lord Victor exclaims. “They all say that you’re the best and constantly bemoan the fact that you live out here in the middle of nowhere.” He pauses for a moment. “Why _do_ you live out here in the middle of nowhere, anyway?” Without waiting for Yuuri’s answer, he reaches out and places his long pale fingers over Yuuri’s greasy hands. “Please, Baronet Katsuki,” he pleads. “Come to the Citadel and help my Makka.”

Yuuri stares down at the soft white hands covering his own.

“Money's no object,” Lord Victor continues, and Yuuri looks up to meet his gaze. He thinks of Vicchan, and he sighs.

“I’m not concerned about the money,” he says. “And my name is Yuuri.”

Lord Victor beams at him, and Yuuri can’t help but smile back. “So you’ll come, then?”

Yuuri nods. “Yes, I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t promise you anything.”

“We can leave tomorrow!” Lord Victor exclaims, squeezing Yuuri’s hands. “And you _must_ call me Victor!”  

Yuuri makes a mental note to send a letter ahead to Phichit to let him know Yuuri’s coming.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe it!” Phichit exclaims as Yuuri drops his bag in the guest suite of the Chulanot’s townhome in the fashionable part of the Citadel.  Phichit flops down on the bed and heaves a wistful sigh. “I can _not_ believe that Lord Victor went all the way to Hasetsu to find _you!”_ Phichit presses his hands over his heart. “It’s so _romantic!”_

Yuuri flushes. “It’s not _romantic,”_ he protests. “He only came to find me because he’s desperate for a mechanic who can help him.”

Phichit rolls his eyes. “Look,” he says, “ _obviously_ he came to get you because he heard all about what a genius you are. And while you’re dazzling him with your brilliance and innovation, you can also dazzle him with your,” he waves a hand at Yuuri, “you know, _other_ charms.”

“Ugh.” Yuuri presses his hands to his face. “What other charms; I have no other charms.”

“Bite your tongue,” Phichit says, reaching over to drag one of Yuuri’s hands away from his face. “Look at you. You have loads of charms. Ask anyone in Hasetsu.”

Yuuri snorts. “Most of the people in Hasetsu are practically family,” he says. “They _have_ to say I’m charming.”

Phichit sniffs. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

The clock in the hall chimes the half-hour, and Yuuri sits up, pulling his hand from Phichit’s grasp. “I have to go,” he says. “I told Lord Victor I’d be there by four o’clock and it’s already three-thirty.”

“Go be dazzling,” Phichit says, flopping back down on the bed and shooing Yuuri from the room.

Yuuri flushes again and rolls his eyes, grabbing his tool bag.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri frowns down at Makka's chest, flitting careful fingers over the intricate network of springs and gears. “Do you do the upkeep on Makka yourself?” he asks Lord Victor, who's hovering over Yuuri's shoulder like an anxious parent.

“No,” says Lord Victor. “Yakov—Lord Feltsman, you know—told me that I should leave her upkeep to the mechanics. I don't know much about it and I didn't want to risk ruining her. Why, what is it?”

Yuuri looks up at him through his goggles. “It's just,” he says, swiping a hand across his sweaty brow, “her gears haven't been cleaned properly in ages.”

Lord Victor frowns. “So I should fire my mechanic, then?”

Yuuri shakes his head frantically. “No, don't do that!” he exclaims. “I'm sure that's not what's causing her malfunctions, though it's likely a contributing factor.”

Lord Victor nods as though he understands this. “Do you know what _is_ causing it?”

“Well--” Yuuri hesitates. “I don't think the Makka frame was intended to last so long. I think she's just worn herself out.” He gently opens the Makka's head casing and points to the brain chip and Lord Victor leans even closer, so close Yuuri can smell whatever he’s put in his hair to make it shiny. “Her brain chip seems to be just fine,” he says and he feels the ends of Lord Victor's hair brush his temple as the other man nods. “I think her frame just needs some upgrades.”

Lord Victor frowns again and leans back far enough to meet Yuuri's eyes. “Why didn't any of the other mechanics suggest this?” he asks.

Yuuri shrugs. “Probably because most mechanics think of the Makkas as a sort of toy,” he says. “They probably knew it was a last resort option, but usually people don’t go for more than replacing a spring or two. Repairing an entire frame is a more drastic course of action than most people would consider.”

“Why is it drastic?”

Yuuri looks up into Lord Victor's eyes. They're so much _bluer_ than Yuuri thought they would be and he hopes Lord Victor doesn't notice his blush. “The Makkas don’t normally do so well with such large repairs as a whole-frame overhaul would require.”

“Why not?”

Yuuri purses his lips, thinking of how to explain it. “How would you feel if you woke up only to find out someone had transplanted a kidney while you were asleep?” he says at last. “It would be strange, right? This Makka was made to be just like the original dog. She doesn't _know_ she's mechanical, like all the other versions do. With the newer models, they can tell their owners when they need repairs and exactly what’s wrong. But yours can’t, just like a real dog can’t tell their owners what’s wrong with them, only that _something’s_ wrong. So whether you're building an entirely new frame or simply repairing the old one, you have to make sure it's as close to what she's used to as possible, or else she’ll get scared when she wakes up and finds her body isn’t the one she’s used to. It’d be best if we could get the parts from the original manufacturer.”

Lord Victor slumps. “She was made quite a few years ago,” he says. “I don't know if I even know where to get them.”

“Do you still have the original schematics?” asks Yuuri. “I can repair her bit by bit as long as I can get the right parts.” He hesitates. “It might take a while, though.”

“Really?” Lord Victor exclaims as a slow smile spreads across his face. “I think Yakov might have them!” He bends down and smacks a kiss to Yuuri's forehead, heedless of the sweat dotting Yuuri's brow. “You're a lifesaver, Yuuri!”

Yuuri feels his flush deepening as he nods.

Lord Victor laughs. “Your blush!” he exclaims, reaching out to pat Yuuri on the cheek. “So modest about your genius. I adore it.” He winks. “And I don’t mind if it takes a while. That just means we can get to know each other better.”

Yuuri’s blush deepens and he ducks his head.

 

* * *

 

Word spreads quickly about Yuuri's supposedly miraculous repair job, with Lord Victor gushing to the society pages about the Baronet's genius. Phichit cackles as he reads the articles aloud to Yuuri.

“Look here, Yuuri,” says Phichit, shaking a paper at him over tea one afternoon, “he says that he’s put you on retainer to repair Makka forever.” He squints at Yuuri. “Has he _really?_ You didn’t tell me.”

Yuuri shakes his head, eyes on his scone. “He mentioned it? I told him that I wouldn’t want to permanently move away from Hasetsu. But he hasn’t officially _asked_ me, anyway. I don’t see what all the fuss is about; I didn’t really do anything.”

“He also says you’re as beautiful as you are brilliant.” Phichit grins over the paper at Yuuri. “Didn’t I tell you that you have dazzling charms? You should listen to me more.”

Regardless of what he has or hasn't done, Yuuri finds himself in sudden demand, as requests come pouring in. One of the Citadel mechanics begrudgingly offers him a bench in his storefront, and Yuuri buries himself in his work—a welcome distraction from the thoughts of Lord Victor running through his head.

It is difficult, however, to completely ignore them since Lord Victor seems to drop by the mechanic’s shop at least once a day. His excuses seem extremely thin, and Yuuri wonders if Lord Victor is really _that_ eager to put Yuuri on retainer, as Yuuri can’t allow himself to fathom any other reasons why Lord Victor would constantly drop by.

 

(“Yuuri, Makka was asking me for a bite of my orange this morning! She never liked oranges before; is that something I should be concerned about?”

“Yuuri, Makka slept with her head towards my feet instead of up on my pillow! I think you need to double-check and make sure she’s alright.”

“Yuuri, Makka’s fur seems coarser than it was before. Is that normal?”)

 

As the weeks pass, the Nikiforov Gala draws near, and Yuuri finds himself suddenly in a position where he can’t politely decline any participation in the festivities, as he and his family did until the Nikiforovs finally just stopped inviting them. Living in Hasetsu, so far from the Citadel, the Katsukis tend to decline what few invitations they receive, but Phichit isn’t allowing Yuuri to skip out on society events now that Yuuri’s available to attend them.

“Come on, Yuuri,” Phichit wheedles, hopping up on the surface of Yuuri’s borrowed workbench. “You _have_ to come! Everybody knows the Nikiforov’s Annual Gala is the greatest party of the Season!”

Yuuri sighs and turns back to the Makka he’s working on (a Mark VI, the most recent model). “But I wasn’t invited,” he points out, twisting the wrench around the new spring he’d installed in the toy dog’s tail mechanism. The tail wags smoothly, and Yuuri hums, pleased with his handiwork. The dog gives a little yip, his scratchy synthetic tongue lapping happily at Yuuri’s fingers.

Phichit waves a careless hand, swinging his feet as they dangle off the floor. “They won’t care. They invite pretty much all of the nobility every year, so it’s not like they’ll notice. Plus, I _was_ invited, so obviously, you’ll tag along with me!”

Yuuri almost points out that the Chulanots, like the Nikiforovs, are rich as well as titled, while Yuuri is the last lowly scion of a penniless baronetcy--barely nobility at all, only known to the people of the Citadel as That Excellent Mechanic Lord Victor Talks About--but he knows it won’t do any good. Once Phichit gets an idea into his head, he’s rarely one to allow his mind to be changed.

“I have to finish repairing this Makka,” he says instead. “I promised I’d have it done by tomorrow.”

“Orrrrr,” Phichit cajoles, “You could come with me and _see the real thing._ You know, the one that you fixed so well that Lord Victor can’t stop talking about it. Or you. _”_

Yuuri blushes. “That’s why I can’t go,” he says, not meeting Phichit’s eyes. “He’ll recognize me as the poor mechanic who also just happens to be a Baronet and it’ll be humiliating.”

“Come over early,” says Phichit. “I’ll choose your outfit. You just wait, your own mother won’t even recognize you.”

“Fine,” Yuuri sighs, knowing a lost battle with Phichit when he sees one. “But I’m leaving at midnight.”

“Ugh,all right,” Phichit concedes. “But _on the dot,_ no skipping out fifteen minutes early.”

 

* * *

 

Phichit is as good as his word. Yuuri barely recognizes himself. Phichit had put him all in black from head to toe, with a gleaming diamond pin in his cravat sparkling amongst the darkness of his clothing. Phichit convinces Yuuri to slick his hair back rather than let it fall over his forehead. “You need to show off your beautiful eyes and cheekbones,” he says as he works the pomade through Yuuri’s thick dark hair.

Yuuri just sighs and submits to Phichit’s ministrations.

“You look _wonderful,_ if I do say so myself,” says Phichit as he finishes applying a dark liner to Yuuri’s lashes. “Very mysterious and sexy. Like a gentleman thief who ravishes you and leaves you exhausted, yet sated, and then sneaks out with your jewelry while you’re sleeping off the fantastic orgasm.”

“ _Phichit,_ really,” Yuuri protests with a laugh.

“No, it’s good,” says Phichit. “That’s exactly the look I was going for with you.”

“And what about yourself?” Yuuri asks, gesturing to Phichit. “Are you the charming prince whose jewelry I’m stealing?”

Phichit grins, “No, that’s Lord Victor, obviously, but if you ever want to ravish me, just let me know.” He winks at Yuuri before turning to the mirror to apply his own makeup, which includes a heavy layer of red and gold glitter on his eyelids and sharply winged eyeliner.

 

* * *

 

“Try not to look so nervous,” Phichit hisses in his ear as they enter the Nikiforov estate. Phichit casually hands his invitation off to a liveried servant, who murmurs a welcome and bows as they stride past him. “It looks like you’re waiting for someone to jump out and yell at you for daring to show your face.”

“I am,” Yuuri mutters back. “I don’t belong here, Phichit.”

“You belong here just as much as I do,” Phichit replies, looping his arm companionably through Yuuri’s. “Especially in that outfit. Damn, I’m good. Now come on, let’s get you some champagne; you’ll feel better.”

“Yes, please,” Yuuri says gratefully, and Phichit grins at him and sweeps him into the ballroom.

Yuuri’s gaze hones in on a table covered in filled champagne flutes. He walks up to the table and snatches one. The servant behind the table nods at him, and he nods back stiffly before tilting the glass back and draining its contents in one go before reaching for another flute.

“Whoa there, tiger,” Phichit says as he appears at Yuuri’s elbow. “I know I said to get some champagne in you, but you might want to pace yourself.”

“I’m fine,” says Yuuri, fingers tightening around the stem of his champagne flute. “Go mingle. Have fun. I’ll be okay.”

Phichit gives him a long look, dark eyes serious beneath the glittering makeup. “Fine,” he says at last. “But you come get me if it gets to be too much, all right? I don’t _actually_ mind if you want to leave early.”

Yuuri nods. He, of course, has no intention of dragging Phichit away from this party. Phichit _loves_ the Nikiforov Gala. It’s his favorite event of the year. Yuuri will sneak out on his own if it comes to that.

Phichit gives him one last smile before melting into the crowd and Yuuri slumps against the wall by the champagne table, nursing his drink, trying to finish it at a slightly more civilized pace than the first glass.

He eventually loses count of how much champagne he’s had as he lurks in the corner by the table, but the servant pouring the glasses has begun frowning disapprovingly at him whenever he reaches for a refill. Of course, the man doesn’t say anything--as far as he knows, Yuuri’s far above his station--so Yuuri ignores the frown and keeps drinking.

There’s something a bit freeing, he thinks as he sets down yet another empty glass, in being unnoticed and unrecognizable.

He’s finally pulled away from the drinks table by the arrival of Lord Victor and his cousin, young Viscount Plisetsky--who is also named Yuri. Yuuri remembers meeting the boy years ago--the Viscount was a small child then, all elbows and chin and floaty blond hair--during one of the Katsuki family’s rare trips to the Citadel. Upon their introduction, little Yuri had arrogantly declared that there wasn’t room in the Citadel for more than one Yuri, so Katsuki should just drag his stupid self back to the town he came from.

Yuuri hadn’t said anything in reply at the time, but after that, he’d been a lot less disappointed when his parents declined invitations to the Citadel.

 

Now, Yuuri glares at the Viscount--who’s in his mid-teens now, but is still all elbows and hair and angry eyes. With a decisive nod, he slams his empty glass down on the table and stomps over to the boy. 

“You!” he exclaims, and the Viscount jumps in surprise. 

“Who the hell are you?” he exclaims, looking Yuuri up and down. “And what the hell do you want?”

 “You and I,” Yuuri declares, his voice slowed by the champagne, “are going to prove _just_ who has the right to be here.”

 “What?”

 Yuuri nods and stabs the air with one finger. “You and I are going to decide that right here and now. With a dance.”

 The Viscount rolls his eyes. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re scared,” Yuuri replies.

 The Viscount’s green eyes flash. “I’m not scared of anything, idiot.” 

Yuuri leans in, so close the Viscount can probably smell the champagne on his breath. “Then prove it.” 

Yuuri’s best talents lie in mechanics, not dance, but the Viscount has obviously been skipping out on his dancing lessons, so it hardly matters. It's obvious within a few measures which of them has the advantage, here. Before the song ends, the Viscount has pulled himself from Yuuri’s grasp with a snarl. 

“This is stupid,” he hisses. “I don’t even _know_ you; I don’t have to prove _anything_ to you.” 

“I deserve to be here,” Yuuri says, reaching out to grip his arm. “I have just as much right as you.” 

“Fine,” Yuri snaps, snatching his arm back. “Whatever.” He stalks off across the ballroom to nurse his wounded pride, and the part of Yuuri that has been smarting for years at the Viscount’s treatment of him settles with smug satisfaction.

 “Well done, darling,” a voice murmurs in his ear, and Yuuri jerks around to see Prince Christophe watching him with a smirk. “I can’t remember the last time Yuri Plisetsky got his comeuppance.”

 “Your Highness!” Yuuri exclaims and executes a hasty bow.

 The prince waves a careless hand. “None of that,” he says. “Anyone who can bring the little Viscount down a peg or two has earned the right to call me by my name.” He leans in and peers at Yuuri. “Do we know each other?” 

Yuuri shakes his head. He and the Prince _have_ met a handful of times, while Yuuri was repairing Lord Victor’s Makka, but he’s not about to mention that. 

“Hmm,” Prince Christophe says, giving Yuuri a calculating once-over. “Well, then, my dark and handsome stranger,” he says at last, holding out one hand, “such fine dancing shouldn’t be wasted on someone who can’t keep up with it.”

 Yuuri considers him, then shrugs and takes his hand. “I’m not sure you can either, Your Highness,” he says, and Prince Christophe’s laugh trails behind them as they make their way to the dance floor. 

He dances with the Prince for a song or two, and Prince Christophe’s eyes gleam with laughter as Yuuri deftly leads him through the steps. “I concede your superiority,” the Prince murmurs in his ear at one point. “I’m devastated that you haven’t been to any of my parties before.”

 Yuuri just smiles and shrugs. 

“What brought you to the Citadel?” 

Yuuri’s eyes dart around before they land on Lord Victor, hovering on the edge of the dance floor, watching him and Christophe. The Prince’s gaze follows his and he nods.

 “It would be Lord Victor,” he says, with amused resignation. “He’s _always_ stealing the handsomest men.” 

Yuuri’s eyes flit back to the Prince’s. Christophe leans in, so close that Yuuri can see the faint stubble on his chin. “Do me a favor, darling,” Christophe murmurs, low and intimate. “This time, _you_ steal _him.”_  

With that, he twirls Yuuri, spinning Yuuri away from him, until Yuuri comes to a stop right in front of Lord Victor, who stares down at him, a strange light in his eyes.

“Dance with me, my lord,” Yuuri demands, holding out a hand. Lord Victor’s eyes sparkle as his gaze travels up and down Yuuri’s body. He flicks his hair off his forehead and smiles at Yuuri--a sharper, somehow less genuine smile than the ones he gives Yuuri in the mechanic’s shop--before reaching out to place his gloved hand in Yuuri’s bare one.

“Of course,” says Lord Victor. “On one condition.”

Yuuri’s expression falters a bit. “What’s that?” he asks, hoping that Lord Victor won’t ask for his name.

Lord Victor’s smile widens. “You must call me Victor,” he says, tightening his fingers around Yuuri’s and pulling him onto the ballroom floor.  Yuuri feels himself flushing as Lord-- _Victor_ ’s hand rests gently on his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

They’ve been dancing for what feels like hours, Lord Victor refusing to let Yuuri go and turning down anyone who tries to cut in.

“You shouldn’t spend your whole party with just me,” Yuuri says at last.

“Why not?” Victor replies, stroking one long finger along the seam of Yuuri’s jacket, pressing one finger thoughtfully to the cravat pin sparkling at Yuuri’s throat. “You’re obviously the most fascinating person here.”

Yuuri almost snorts at that. He’s certainly never been accused of being _fascinating_ before.

“Do you know what I just realized?” Victor murmurs, his breath warm on Yuuri’s ear. “I’ve been in your arms nearly all evening and you never told me your name.”

“I-” Yuuri stammers, suddenly nervous. “I suppose I haven’t, my lord.”

Victor pulls back and gives Yuuri a considering look. “You do not wish to tell me?” he asks.

Yuuri shrugs, a bit sheepishly.

“I only wish to know how I am supposed to find you tomorrow,” says Victor. Then he smirks at Yuuri and adds in a low voice, “unless of course, you want to make it easy for me and you’ll agree to wake up in my bed.”

Yuuri stops moving, causing Victor to stumble a little. “M-my lord,” Yuuri says, and he feels the flush all the way down his neck.

“You’re supposed to call me _Victor,”_ Victor sighs. “That is a no, then?”

Yuuri looks away. Victor’s fingers rest on his chin, gently bringing Yuuri’s gaze back to meet his own. “I do not mind _,”_ he says. “We all have our little secrets, do we not?”

Yuuri relaxes slightly as he nods gratefully.

“I have to call you _something,”_ says Victor thoughtfully. His brow wrinkles for a moment, then clears as he smiles triumphantly. “I know!” he exclaims. “Because you have seduced me so thoroughly tonight, I will call you _Eros._ What do you think of that?”

Before Yuuri can answer, he hears the clock tower chiming midnight.  He gasps. “I have to go,” he says.

“Oh, no, don’t,” Victor pleads, grasping his lapel and curling his free hand through Yuuri’s cravat. “I promise I won’t ask your name again; please don’t go away.”

“It’s not that,” Yuuri replies, reluctantly tugging free of Victor’s hold, his cravat untying in his haste. “But I must go, I’m sorry.”

With that, he forces himself to turn away and off the ballroom floor, murmuring apologies as he goes.

“ _Please,_ my Eros, _”_ Victor calls after him. “Come back!”

Yuuri forces himself to keep going. He has a Makka to repair. Not to mention, he’s going home soon. He can’t allow himself to dwell on this evening.

At the ballroom door, he allows himself one last look. It’s the last one he’s ever going to get.

He knows he’s never going to see Lord Victor Nikiforov again.

 

* * *

 

 The next morning, as he’s picking his clothing off the floor where he’d carelessly discarded it the night before, Yuuri realizes he’s lost the cravat pin Phichit had loaned to him.

“I’m really sorry, Phichit,” Yuuri says.

Phichit shrugs. “It’s all right,” he replies. “It’s not like it was a family heirloom or anything. I have plenty of cravat pins, Yuuri.” 

“I can replace it,” Yuuri says. Which is ridiculous. That cravat pin was probably worth more money than Yuuri earns in a year, but he can’t _not_ offer to replace it.

 “Don’t be silly,” Phichit says. “Did you have a good time?” 

Yuuri shrugs. “I drank too much,” he says. 

“I know,” Phichit says. “I saw you dance with Viscount Plisetsky! I thought you hated him.”

 “I don’t _hate_ him,” Yuuri protests. 

“He probably hates _you_ now,” says Phichit. “I overheard him telling Count Altin all about how you humiliated him by dancing better than he does, so,” he shrugs. “You could hate him if you wanted to.”

 Yuuri buries his face in his hands. “Please don’t say anything else.” 

“Not even that Prince Christophe was _raving_ about you?” Phichit says. “Specifically, how you looked in that outfit--I _told_ you you looked fantastic, didn’t I? Or that everyone thought you were so _mysterious_? Honestly, it was all I could do not to tell them who you were, but I know you wanted to go incognito, so I didn’t say anything.”

 “Thank you,” Yuuri says, voice muffled. He peeks at Phichit through his fingers. “Did you see me dance with Lord Victor?” 

Phichit laughs. “Who _didn’t,”_ he says, “since you danced with him _all night long.”_ He gives Yuuri a friendly nudge with one shoulder, and Yuuri groans again.

 “Speaking of Lord Victor,” Phichit says, and his casual tone puts Yuuri on guard, “he’s dropping by the house later this week. To thank me for coming to his party.” He pokes Yuuri in the forehead. “So you might want to start thinking about your strategy to seduce him, or propose, or avoid him.” 

Yuuri blushes. “Don’t,” he says. “I doubt Lord Victor has spared me a second thought.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri manages to avoid Lord Victor’s visit to the Chulanots by hiding out at the workshop.

 Or, he _thought_ he had.

 “There you are, Yuuri! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Lord Victor exclaims, bursting into the workshop. “I have news!” 

All the mechanics look up from their benches and stare at the duke, although they’re pretty used to Victor popping in to chat with Yuuri. _Citadel mechanics could give Hasetsu grandmothers a run for their money in the gossip department_ , Yuuri thinks. 

Victor doesn’t spare any of them a glance, his eyes focused on Yuuri. There’s no sound in the shop except the ticking of clocks and the squeaking of rusty gears.

 “Oh,” Yuuri says, after a moment, his hands hovering above the Makka he’s working on--not Lord Victor’s, but a newer model. It’s one of the last ones he’s agreed to repair before his return to Hasetsu.

 “I,” says Lord Victor, “am throwing a party.” 

Yuuri frowns. “Didn’t you _just_ throw a party?”

“Yes,” says Lord Victor. “But you see, that was the annual Gala. This is completely different.”

 “Why?”

 Yuuri can’t be sure--the shop’s lighting is dim--but it seems like Lord Victor blushes.

 “Does it really matter?” he asks at last. “I like parties.” 

“I see,” says Yuuri, although he doesn’t. Did Lord Victor really come all the way down to the shopping district just to tell him this?

“Will you come to my party, Yuuri?” Victor asks, raptly watching Yuuri’s hands as he adjusts the finicky gears surrounding Makka’s eyes.

Yuuri pushes up his goggles. “I’m invited?”

Victor laughs. “Of _course_ you are!” he exclaims. “You fixed my darling Makka! You’re my favorite person!” He pauses for a second. “Well,” he amends, “perhaps you are my second favorite. I am still deciding this.”

“After the prince?”

Victor shakes his head, smiling. “No,” he says. “I _definitely_ like you better than Christophe. I mean…”

Yuuri watches, fascinated, as a blush creeps up Victor’s pale cheekbones.

“I think I am in _love,_ Yuuri,” Victor blurts.

Yuuri’s heart stops before dropping to his feet. “Oh,” he stammers. “That’s nice.”

“It might be if I knew his _name,”_ Victor replies, hunching down and _thud_ ding his forehead onto the counter.

“Wait,” says Yuuri. “You’re in love with someone and you don’t even know their name?”

Victor nods. “All I know is that he is gloriously handsome and a divine dancer and he seduced me with nothing but his smile.”

“Wow,” says Yuuri. “He sounds amazing.”

“Yes,” says Victor. He raises his gaze to the ceiling. “Why won’t you come to me, my Eros?”

Yuuri drops his pliers. His heart jumps from his toes to his throat, and Yuuri finds he can’t speak.

“Y-your what?”

“Eros, my Eros,” Victor repeats. “That’s what I call him because he never gave me his name but my heart was _ravished_ and left breathless on the dance floor.”

“Oh.” Yuuri’s not sure his brain is entirely functioning right now. The amazing, sexy man Victor is in love with is... _him?_

 “So,” says Lord Victor, his voice breaking into Yuuri’s thoughts, “I am throwing a party in the hope that he comes. It was Yuri’s idea.”

 “The Viscount Plisetsky?” Yuuri echoes. “That doesn’t seem like him.”

 “Well,” says Lord Victor. “In full honesty, his suggestion was mostly an attempt to get me to go away.”

 

* * *

 

_“I need to find him, Yuri,”  Lord Victor sighs, wrapping his arms around Yuri’s waist. “He is my_ **_soulmate_ ** _, I knew it from the first moment he took me into his arms. I will_ **_marry_ ** _him, Yuri--him and no one else. I make this vow and you are my witness.”_

_“Ugh, get_ **_off,_ ** _” snarls Viscount Plisetsky. “You’ve been moping about that stupid gala for_ **_days_ ** _.”_

_“Why did I not get his name?”  Lord Victor wails, pressing his forehead to Yuri’s shoulder. “Why couldn’t he have left a shoe on the villa stairs for me to find?”_

_Yuri growls low in his throat and shoves Victor away. Lord Victor sighs and drapes himself across a nearby chair--the very picture of despair._

_“He did leave a cravat pin,” says Prince Christophe, from where he’s carelessly sprawled across a divan._

_“Not helpful!” Victor exclaims, pressing one hand to his forehead. “It’s a pin, same as any other pin; how is it supposed to guide me to him?”_

_Yuri swears under his breath. “Sniveling isn’t going to find him for you,” he says. “Throw another party or something, but just leave me the hell alone!”_

_Victor sits up and clasps his hands. “That’s_ **_brilliant_ ** _, Yura!”_

_“Great, wonderful, now go away,” Yuri grumbles._  

_“You’re just annoyed that he’s a better dancer than you are,” says Prince Christophe._  

_“I am not!” Yuri exclaims. “Why would I care that some idiot stranger can dance? I hate dancing, anyway.”_  

_“You didn’t seem to mind when Count Altin asked you,” says Victor, and he and Prince Christophe share a smirk when the younger man sputters a protest._

  _“Go bother the mechanic or Yakov or_ **_someone not me,_ ** _” Yuri snarls, and Victor laughs as he unfolds himself from the chair and obeys._

 

* * *

 

 “Anyway,” says Lord Victor, leaning in to meet Yuuri’s eyes. “It’s in three days. You’ll come, won’t you?” 

_I can’t tell him,_ Yuuri thinks. _Look at me. I’m not Eros. I’m not that person I was pretending to be that night. Victor will just be disappointed to find out who Eros really is._

 “I’m sorry,” he says at last. “But I’m going back to Hasetsu. I can’t make it.”

 He tells himself he’s imagining the disappointment in Lord Victor’s eyes.

 “Of course,” Lord Victor says, after a long moment. “I’d forgotten you don’t live here in the Citadel.”

 “You won’t even notice I’m not there,” Yuuri says, trying to comfort, but a pang goes through him as the thought.

 “Of course I will,” says Lord Victor. “It’s hardly worth throwing if you won’t be there, darling Yuuri.” With gentle fingers, he reaches out and tucks a strand of Yuuri’s hair back from his forehead, then rests his hand on Yuuri’s, uncaring of the grime now staining his glove. “Safe travels, Baronet Katsuki,” he says formally. “I hope you have a wonderful journey.”

 Yuuri nods, unable to speak, and pulls his hand away. “Goodbye, my lord.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Lord Victor sits on a bench in the garden of his estate, long legs curled beneath him, twirling the cravat pin around and absently admiring the way the light catches in the chip of diamond. His party is both a resounding success and a terrible failure. Everyone is having a wonderful time….but Yuuri hadn’t come. And neither had Eros. Victor had worn the pin in hopes that Eros would recognize it, but none of the guests had cast so much as a glance at the pin.

 Phichit Chulanot, who Lord Victor recognizes from his trips to Yuuri Katsuki’s shop, comes up to him and gives him a small smile. “There you are, my lord,” he says. “I just wanted to thank you for this lovely evening.”

 “You’re welcome,” Lord Victor says automatically, still twirling the pin in his fingers.

“Oh, you found it!” Phichit exclaims, plucking the pin from Victor’s suddenly nerveless fingers.

Victor’s heart stops. “W-what?”

“This pin,” Phichit says. “It’s mine.”

“Oh,” says Victor. Phichit Chulanot is his Eros? He thought Eros had been a little lighter skinned and taller and that he’d seen Phichit dressed in red at the gala, but Victor is aware that his memory isn’t always the most reliable.  He  wonders why he isn’t as happy as he thought he’d be to find Eros. But a vow is a vow; he promised to _marry_ his Eros, and Victor Nikiforov, Duke of Petersburg, is a man of his word. “I…” he begins. He bites his lip. Starts again. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

Phichit frowns. “Meet me?” he echoes. “We met nearly ten years ago. And we’ve hardly spoken since.”

Victor shakes his head. “I mean…” he nods at the pin in Phichit’s hand. “ _You.”_

Phichit’s eyes go round. “Oh!” he exclaims. “Oh, _nononono_ you’ve got it wrong,” he continues, flapping his hands at Victor and speaking so quickly his words almost blur together. “I wasn’t the one wearing this the night of your gala.”

“You weren’t?”

Phichit shakes his head. “I let Yuuri borrow it for the night.”

“Yuuri?” Victor’s heart races. “Yuuri….Baronet Katsuki?”

“Yep.”

Victor snatches the pin back and gazes at it. “Yuuri is my Eros?” He realizes, suddenly, that _this_ is why he wasn’t happy in those moments he’d thought Eros was Phichit. He’d been hoping against hope that it was Yuuri.

 

 Brilliant Yuuri, who knew exactly how to fix his Makka.

 Gentle Yuuri, who’d attended to Makka as though she was a real dog and not just a mechanical replica. 

Sweet Yuuri, who didn’t seem to mind that Victor stayed so long in his shop, and laughed at Victor’s stupid jokes, and listened as Victor talked and talked and talked.

 

  _Yuuri._  

 

“Eros?” Phichit shrugs. “Don’t know what that’s about, but if you’re asking if Yuuri is the one you danced with all night at your party, then yes.”

Victor looks at him. “You knew? And you never said?”

Phichit frowns at him. “Yuuri asked me not to say anything.”

“Why would he do that?” Victor asks. “Why didn’t he tell me who he was?”

“Well,” Phichit says, “you might have noticed that the Yuuri you danced with at the ball isn’t exactly how Yuuri is all the time.”

“Yes,” says Victor. “I don’t mind; I find him quite enchanting.”

Phichit purses his lips. “Though you never thought that Yuuri and this Eros might be the same person before I just now told you about it.”

“Well--”

“And you might also have noticed that you talk about the sexy and mysterious guy you danced with a _lot.”_

“He completely enthralled me!” Victor exclaims. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Phichit pinches the bridge of his nose. “Because,” he says slowly, “maybe that might make Yuuri think that he--” Phichit looks up to meet Victor’s gaze, “--that is, Yuuri as his usual self, will be disappointing to someone looking for Yuuri as he was at the Gala.”

“Yuuri could never disappoint me,” Victor says stoutly. “I _adore_ him.”

“Good,” says Phichit. “I’m glad to hear it. But maybe you should go say that to Yuuri.”

Victor’s eyes widen as a smile slowly spreads across his face. “Yes,” he says. “I’ll do that.” He reaches out and pulls the pin from Phichit’s hand. “I’m taking this back for a moment,” he says with a wink.

“It’ll be longer than a moment if you’re taking it to Yuuri,” says Phichit. “He went back to Hasetsu, remember?”

“Oh,” says Lord Victor, shoulders slumping. “Well then….I’m borrowing it until further notice?”

 “I’ll make you a deal,” says Phichit, grinning mischievously. “You can keep it as long as Yuuri wears it at your wedding.”

Lord Victor’s smile widens. “Deal,” he exclaims before darting away.

Phichit shakes his head in fond amusement. “I am the best fairy godmother _ever_ ,” he says to himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Once he’s back in Hasetsu, Yuuri buries himself in his work and refuses to talk to anyone about what happened with Lord Victor. 

“You fixed his Makka, though, right?” his sister Mari asks, frowning. “And he was kind to you?” 

“Yes,” Yuuri replies, setting the bag of gold on the table. “Here’s the payment; I’m going to the shop now.” 

And after those words, no one could get him to say anything else about what transpired in the Citadel. 

He spends the next few days catching up on the work that had piled up while he was away. His neighbors say nothing other than to tell him it’s nice that he’s back, which he appreciates. 

He’s glad that no one in Hasetsu owns a Makka. 

Phichit writes him once to apologize for caving and telling Victor that Yuuri was Eros. _I only told him because he was ready to believe it was me,_ the letter says. _He didn’t seem too disappointed, though, to find out it was you. It seemed like he might come visit you at some point, so keep your eyes peeled._  

Yuuri nearly faints at that. He doesn’t want to think about facing Lord Victor again now that Victor knows Yuuri was Eros. Phichit might think Victor wasn’t upset about it, but Yuuri knows himself well enough to know that if Eros is what Victor wants, Yuuri isn’t going to be an acceptable replacement.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri’s been on edge ever since Phichit’s letter. Every day, he wonders if _this_ is the day Victor Nikiforov is going to walk into his shop and yell at him for his deceit, for his _daring_ to think that poor Baronet Katsuki is good enough for Lord Victor Nikiforov, Duke Petersburg, the darling of the Citadel. 

Days go by, and no sign of Victor. Bit by bit, Yuuri feels himself uncoiling, resigning himself to the fact that Victor isn’t even going to go through the trouble of coming all the way to Hasetsu. Rather, Yuuri thinks, he’s just going to forget about Yuuri completely. 

_It’s fine_ , Yuuri tells himself. _It’s better this way. Even if he_ **_had_ ** _wanted to be with you, he would have wanted you to move to the Citadel with him and you would hate that. You’d miss Hasetsu and you’d be miserable._

 Which was half true. Yuuri _would_ miss Hasetsu and he _would_ hate living in the Citadel, but living in the Citadel _with Lord Victor_ would have been nice. Possibly wonderful, even.

 But it’s no use thinking about it, since it’s not going to happen.

 

* * *

 

 

The bell jangles above the door to Yuuri’s shop, as it always does. 

Yuuri mostly ignores it, as he always does. 

“Hello.” 

Yuuri jerks his head up, feeling a sense of _deja vu._  

Once again, Lord Victor Nikiforov stands in the middle of Yuuri’s tiny shop, shattering the comfortable silence.

 Once again, Lord Victor’s spotless, ridiculously expensive clothes make Yuuri hyperaware of his own rumpled and stained clothing. 

Yuuri gapes at him. _What is he_ **_doing_ ** _here?_  

“What are you _doing_ here?” he asks, after a long and awkward pause. 

Victor holds up a familiar cravat pin. “You dropped this at the gala,” he says. “I came to return it.”

Yuuri’s gaze darts up to meet Victor’s. “It’s Phichit’s,” is all he can think to say.

“I know,” says Victor, setting the pin down on the counter. “But I also know you were wearing it the night of my gala. You are my Eros.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “I’m _not_ Eros,” he says. “That was a costume, and too much champagne.”

“I was so happy when Phichit told me you were the one I danced with,” Victor says. “I’ve spent _ages_ torn between the man who swept me off my feet at the Gala with his divine dancing and the man who captured my heart in his workshop with his talent and gentleness towards me and my darling Makka.”

Yuuri’s heart pounds as Victor reaches out and takes his hand, bringing Yuuri’s callused fingers to his lips.

“How lucky I am,” Victor murmurs against Yuuri’s skin, “to discover that they are the same man.”

Yuuri’s heart pounds as he watches Victor’s lips press against his fingers. “Don’t!” he exclaims suddenly, pulling his hand from Victor’s grasp. At the flash of hurt in Victor’s eyes, Yuuri rushes to explain, “my hands are dirty.”

 Victor smiles at him. “That’s all right,” he says, and reaches for Yuuri’s hand again. “I think I should take advantage of my great luck, don’t you?”

 “What do you mean?”

 Victor leans in closer, putting his elbows on the table and bringing his other hand up to clasp it around Yuuri’s so that Yuuri’s hand is wrapped in both of Victor’s.

 “I promised myself after the gala that I would marry Eros,” he says.

 Yuuri starts, and he’s not quite sure if it’s a surprised jump or a flinch.

 “But I think,” Victor continues, voice warm, “I’d much rather marry you.”

 “I’m not Eros,” Yuuri says. 

“I liked _you_ before I even _met_ Eros,” says Victor.   

“You told me to my face you loved _him!”_ Yuuri exclaims, trying to pull his hand from Victor’s. 

“Yes,” says Victor. “But I’m an idiot. Just ask my cousin Yuri.” He bites his lip and takes a deep breath. “Please,” he says, and Yuuri swallows hard at the warmth and….dare he say it, _love,_ in Victor Nikiforov’s gaze. “Let me stay here with you,” he says.

 “What?” Yuuri exclaims. “Here? In Hasetsu? Why?”

 Victor blinks. “You’re here,” he says, as though it should be obvious. “I want to be with you.”

 “But the Citadel,” Yuuri says. “You love it there.” 

“And you hate it,” Victor replies. “All I need to be happy is you. Yuuri Katsuki. Baronet. Mechanic. The most divine dancer I’ve ever met.” He bends down and kisses Yuuri’s fingers again. “Well, you and Makka,” he amends.

 Yuuri stares at him. 

The silence seems to stretch out forever. Finally, Victor nods and releases Yuuri’s hand. “I understand,” he says, voice low. “I’ll go.” He gives Yuuri a sad smile, presses a gentle finger to the pin on the counter, and turns to leave.

 “Wait!” Yuuri exclaims and Victor looks back at him. 

“Yes,” Yuuri blurts.

 “Yes?” Victor echoes. 

“Yes,” Yuuri says. “Yes, you can stay, or I’ll go. Any of it.” 

Victor’s smile is radiant.

 

* * *

 

The wedding of Lord Victor Nikiforov, Duke of Petersburg, and the Baronet Katsuki is the talk of the Citadel. While some turn up their noses as the match--Lord Victor could do _so_ much better than some nobody, even if the Baronet _was_ a good mechanic--many others in attendance can do no more than sigh wistfully over the romance of it all. While certainly not a match anyone would have seen coming, it certainly looks to be a happy one. Yuuri Katsuki smiles more on his wedding day than he has in months, and Lord Victor’s eyes shine brighter than the cravat pin gleaming at his new husband’s throat.


End file.
